Oblivious, p.24
Oblivious, page 24
I thought about turning on the light and putting an end to this stage show, but if our intruder was armed, I didn’t want to make myself an easy target. Not until I was close enough to make a move of my own.
The possibility that Sammy G—or worse, Carstairs—had found me created a ball of terror in my throat. Thanks to Gideon, I knew exactly what I could expect if the syndicate got its hands on me. If Carstairs was here, lurking in the darkness, all he had to do was get inside my head and it wouldn’t matter if I were armed to the teeth, he’d be able to drop me. I would have to be ready to act fast.
My heart thrummed against my ribs and sweat trickled down my back from under my stupid green halter top.
I will not be taken down dressed like this, I said to myself, and it was motivation enough to recover my courage.
I firmed my grip on the air and moved through the kitchen, skirted the dining table where Madison’s papers remained in their neat piles across the surface. Exactly how we had left them this morning. Fifteen years ago, or so it felt like.
I passed through the living room, my eyes slow to adjust to the darkness. Through the rush of blood pulsing in my ears, I picked up the faint sound of someone breathing, the airflow shallow and ragged. Their presence flickered through my third eye again, and my mouth went dry. There was something familiar about the way they sat in my mind. The sense of them being both here and not here.
Holding my breath, refusing to let myself feel anything resembling hope, I crossed one foot lightly over the other towards the wall and flicked on the light switch.
A warm glow spilled from the table lamp over the armchair and across the floor, its fingers reaching towards me, battling the shadows of the arriving evening.
Revealing the figure collapsed in the chair.
Dark hair above a pale face, long eyelashes on gaunt cheeks, red shirt soaked with blood over ratty black jeans and heavy black boots. A leather bracelet around a limp wrist.
My heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.
Gideon.
Tears filled my eyes, and my heart galloped, strained against my ribs. It wasn’t possible. Eric was a crack shot. It was in his blood—his aim was perfect. He’d fired at close range. Right in the chest. Gideon couldn’t have survived it. But he was here. Breathing. His eyes were closed and he was covered in blood, but he was alive.
Alive.
As though the word were the rush of fire I needed to thaw out, I flew across the room and knelt beside him. For a minute, I could only stare, terrified that if I touched him, he would dissolve, prove to be nothing more than a figment of my overburdened mind. Forget the evidence of my eyes, my third eye, and my ears. The impossibility held me captive until the pain of not knowing, the ache of unconfirmed hope, pushed me forward, and I took his hand.
His palm was clammy, his skin was cold, but he didn’t disappear, and I swallowed the rock-hard sob building in my throat. At my touch, he twitched and groaned.
“Gideon?” Though it came out as a choked whisper, I didn’t have the nerve to speak louder, too afraid to startle him. Too afraid I would break down. “Gideon, it’s Jet. Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”
This close, under the glow of the lamplight, he looked like death warmed over. His skin was pasty under his dark stubble, and deep bruises of exhaustion circled his eyes. I didn’t care. A few hours ago, I thought I’d never see him again. He could have grown a second nose, and I would have thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on.
His eyelids fluttered, and I tightened my fingers around his.
Where was Madison? Did she know?
No, she wouldn’t have left me in the dark about this or left Gideon on his own in the state he was in.
Alive!
But would he stay that way? The blood on his T-shirt glistened in the light, not yet dry. Was he still bleeding? Still slipping away? My heart raced, but I couldn’t let him see me panic. I had to assume he would make it. That he hadn’t dragged himself back here just to make me watch him die a second time. I wouldn’t let that happen.
His eyes opened, though it took a moment for awareness to fill his dark gaze.
“You scared the crap out of me, you son of a bitch.” I tried my best to sound inconvenienced. The tremor gave me away.
He squeezed my fingers, his grip weak, though stronger than I’d expected. “Had to make you realize how much you’d miss me,” he said, his voice hoarse and jagged.
“I think the blood loss might have caused some brain damage,” I retorted, but the warmth that had filled me at the sight of him burned brighter, and I clung more fiercely to him. “How are you doing?”
“Better than I look,” he said through sharp breaths. “I’ve been healing slowly. Just got so tired. You think I’d let a literal broken heart stop me?”
As he spoke, his torso evaporated. The tendons in his neck grew taut with the effort, and when he rematerialized, a fresh layer of sweat coated his brow. I kept my grip on his hand, wanting to yell at him to pace himself even as I wanted to scream at him to heal faster. I settled for saying nothing, trusting he would only push himself as far as he was able to.
His deep brown eyes met mine, and a shaky smile curled the corner of his mouth. My stomach flip-flopped, and I bowed my head against the armrest at the alarming sting of tears. Relief and joy mingled together and created a buzz that filled me from the roots of my hair down to my toes. All my aches and pains were gone, all the grief I’d suffered on his behalf mutated into the fear that I might lose him again.
Beneath it, sharp, heated fury swelled in my bones, directed at my lieutenant. In his effort to protect the people who had betrayed our department, Eric had nearly taken this man away from me. Gods knew Gideon and I had issues and my feelings for him were a twisted, confused mess, but I had nearly lost any chance of untangling them.
As the boiling rage hardened into molten rock in my veins, the lamp on the table rattled, and a flutter of paper sounded behind me—Madison’s neat briefing notes scattering.
They would never get that close to him again. Not to him, and not to Madison. I had staked my position when I’d freed Gideon from that cell, but now I would defend it. Eric had made his stance clear, but I hoped he understood I wouldn’t back down either. Not when the people I cared about were in danger.
“Hey,” Gideon said, releasing my hand to brush his fingers under my chin. “What’s going on?”
“If they come for you again, you run, do you hear me?” I raised my gaze to his, and his eyes widened at whatever he saw, but I didn’t care. Let him be scared. He should be scared. If he cared anything about me, about what we were fighting for, he would do as I ordered. “No sticking around to protect me, no sacrificing yourself. You get the hell out of there and find somewhere safe to wait, is that clear?”
And just like that, my rage ran out. The lamp settled, Madison’s papers drifted to the floor, and I sagged against the chair. The tears that had threatened now spilled down my cheeks, and I didn’t have the strength to wipe them away. “I can’t stand the thought that next time they won’t bother with the collar. They’ll shoot to kill, and you won’t be able to mist the damage away.”
Gideon gave my hand a gentle tug, guiding me into his lap, and I followed his lead, unable to disobey. Although I was careful where I rested my weight as I straddled his legs, I needed to be close to him, to prove to myself he was actually here, healing before my eyes.
He kept a firm grip on our entwined hands and brushed my hair behind my ear with the other, sliding his fingers to the back of my neck and resting his forehead against mine.
For a while, we stayed there unmoving, neither of us willing to let go. Right now, in this second, everything was fine. We were good, there were no monsters at the door. I was almost afraid to breathe, worried a single small change would bring the ceiling crashing down around us.
I knew I should call Madison, let her know the good news. Let her have the same rush of hope that now ran through me. But I couldn’t share him. Not yet. For this fleeting moment, he was all mine, and I wasn’t ready for anyone else to join us. I wanted to stay right where we were, my heart beating close to his, our breath in sync, the warmth of his hands replacing the chill of my grief.
The fire his presence—his touch—had set off in my blood spread through the rest of me, and soon the press of our foreheads and our joined hands weren’t enough. I released him and slid my fingers under the hem of his T-shirt, gliding them over the ridges and valleys of his stomach. His skin was sticky with dried blood, but when I reached the place where he’d been shot, I skirted my fingers around the wound. He was sitting here, conscious, lucid, so he must have been able to patch himself up, but I was afraid to see the truth.
I told myself my exploration was only to make sure he hadn’t lied to me about his condition—with Gideon, one never knew—but as I splayed my hand over his fevered chest, over his heart that should have been still but by some miracle continued to beat, my breath hitched.
He pulled back to catch my gaze, and the same paralysis came over me as when I’d found him sitting here. The fire burned with so much heat I didn’t trust it. What was I doing? This man who had lied to me—protected me—betrayed me—saved me. This man who had made me cry, doubt myself, feel angrier than I ever had. Who made me feel alive. Strong. Did I really want to go down this road again? I had no idea. What I did know was that right now, I needed him. His heat, his closeness. After the hell of the last few days, with the sword still hanging over our heads, I needed to not feel alone.
The question was there in Gideon’s eyes. He hadn’t moved, one hand on my neck, the other on my waist. Waiting. Giving me control. If I didn’t want this, I could get up. Pour us some drinks. He’d never say anything.
But just as I’d realized recently about my authority within SMOAC, it was an illusion of control. Any actual control had disappeared as soon as his fingers curled into my skin, at the stirring of his desire against my thigh and the darkening of his eyes as longing overwhelmed his pain…
I leaned in, paused. He tensed beneath me, his entire body rigid, and I checked to make sure I hadn’t hurt him. The hand at my neck grew warmer, his breath becoming more ragged. Not pain, but need. And something else? A faint flicker in his eyes I recognized as fear. Uncertainty. He’d left the decision up to me, but what did he want? This man who had been first tortured then shot because of me. So it was my turn to wait, close enough to feel his shaking breath on my cheek, my hand over his racing heart.
I shifted my hips and pressed myself against him, staying careful of his wound. My answer was yes, without hesitation. Now it was his turn.
He edged forward, to the last giving me room to run, but when his lips brushed against mine, all self-restraint between us vanished, and the fire in my veins blazed into an inferno.
I freed my hand from under his shirt and wrapped my fingers around his collar as he curled his into my hair. I rocked my hips to remove any last space, grinding myself deeper into his lap, and he tightened his arm around my waist to pull me against him.
He hissed. I froze.
Desire—his and mine—throbbed between my legs, but I was ready to stop if his body wasn’t up for it. His torso shimmered as he dissolved, a strange sensation having him disappear against me, and when he pulled himself back together, his lips found mine once more, giving me no time to question.
The deeper he kissed me, the familiarity of his mouth taking me back to New York and every pleasure I had to look forward to, the more I needed. The clothes between us—the air between us—were obstacles I couldn’t stand. We had to move. Go somewhere private. Somewhere we could hide—where our problems wouldn’t find us.
He moved with me as I pulled him out of the chair, and I had enough rational thought left to summon the air to cradle his back as I helped him to his feet. He stumbled as he stood, but I caught him without trouble. Again his torso flickered beneath my hands, sending tiny currents over my fingers, and when he returned, more of his pain seemed to have faded. The electricity, however, hadn’t. It redirected to every spot where our bodies touched, his one hand stroking my back, the other still wound in my hair. His lean body pressed against mine, all muscle and heat.
My heart fluttered against my ribs, and my breath came quick and shallow, as ragged as his. I tilted my head back and stared into eyes that were nearly black with the depth of a need so rich and pure it set another blaze under my skin.
How long had it been since he’d held me like this?
Who was I kidding? It had never been like this. In New York, we’d been bored with the stakeout or flying with the rush of success. We’d lost ourselves in the roles we’d played, exploring each other as thoroughly as we had the people we hunted.
In this moment, there were no more lies. No cover stories to hide behind. He had nearly died, and my belief in his death had killed something in me. That we were both standing here, breathing, feeling, was a high I had never experienced.
He pulled off my torn cardigan and slid fingertips under the back of my halter top and along my spine, setting off a series of explosions down my arms and into the pit of my stomach.
He was the one who’d been shot, but under his gentle caress, I nearly lost the ability to stand.
Just when I thought I’d reached my limit, that any extra stimulation would leave me senseless, he bent his head and caught my lips with his. A moan escaped the back of my throat as I wrapped my arms around his neck, making it impossible for him to escape me.
He didn’t try. His fingers curled into my stolen shirt so tightly the cheap material tore, and I grabbed hold of the tatters and tugged it over my head. As soon as one barrier between us was out of the way, his lips came back, this time on the crook of my neck where it met my jawline. My eyes rolled back in my head as pleasure trickled through me. My bare stomach brushed against the stiffness of his bloodied T-shirt, and I tucked my hands underneath to ease it off him.
A muffled grunt came through the fabric as Gideon raised his arms over his head, and I took the opportunity to get a closer look at what remained of his brush with death. The skin was red and puckered, not nearly as healed as he’d let on, though the bleeding seemed to have stopped.
He hooked his finger under my chin and raised my gaze to his. The desire was still there, burning just as hot, but beneath it ran a wave of understanding.
I didn’t want him to read me so easily. I didn’t want him to know how much his near-death had broken me. I’d sworn never to let anyone get that close. He was fine, he was here, we needed each other. That was enough.
I slid my hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. He wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed me closer. In his weakened state, he lost his balance and toppled backwards into the wall. The impact shook all the way through me, vibrating every cell in the air and raising my skin into goosebumps.
What the hell were we doing? Under any other circumstances, I’d be taking him to the hospital right now, not to bed. Cold reason swirled through my clouded passion. “Gideon—”
He trapped my mouth with his, shutting me up before I could finish, and reason slipped away again.
My fingers found their way to his belt, and even as I teased his tongue with mine, I unclasped it, leaving it hanging around the waistband of his jeans as I unhooked the button and unzipped him.
The skin of his chest was so warm. Blood and sweat mixed between us, and all I could think was how appropriate it was. We had fought together, survived, and lived to fuck about it afterward.
He nipped my bottom lip and returned his attentions to my neck as he led us backwards down the hallway. I turned us towards my bedroom, the closest room with a door we could lock, but he tugged me farther along, into the bathroom.
I flipped the switch as he closed the door, and then my back was against the wall and his head was bent, trailing hot kisses down my neck, my chest, the tips of his fingers tracing one nipple as his tongue worked the other.
My legs buckled, but he gripped me tight around the waist with his other arm, his chest against my stomach and his dark head buried against me as he teased and taunted, bringing me so close to the edge I was amazed I hadn’t already burst.
Finding a nearly forgotten pool of willpower, I pushed him back and spun us around. He grimaced as his back hit the wall, but the corner of his mouth curled into a smile as I kissed him again, venturing on my own exploration.
He tasted so good, like earth and honey, his skin tickling my tongue as I travelled downwards, following the path of clean, bare skin. His fingers wound through my hair, sometimes pushing me away, sometimes pulling me closer, but never hard enough to take control away from me as I reached my knees and pulled down his jeans and the jockeys underneath.
Just a taste, a teaser, as I danced my tongue over the length of him. To my surprise, he tensed, softened, and took me by the elbow to guide me back up.
My joints screamed and the muscles in my legs spasmed as I gained my full height, but I pushed the pain to the back of my mind, too confused by what had just happened. I started to ask what was wrong, but the haunted look on his face, that same glimmer of fear I’d spotted earlier, stole my breath.
He pulled me close, brushed my hair behind my ear, and kissed me. Tentative at first, seeking, exploring, growing more desperate as he hardened against me again. Whatever ghosts chased after him, they must have retreated for now, because he shuffled us towards the shower, his lips leaving mine long enough for him to step out of his jeans and start the water. By the time the spray had warmed, filling the bathroom with steam, I’d removed the rest of my clothes, standing naked and open before this man who made me feel the same.
